Writing Exercise

This week in a writing class, we have a fun assignment. Try it yourself!

*It needs to be one paragraph, exactly seven sentences. No dialogue.

*It should be the first paragraph or the last paragraph of a Young Adult novel, meaning the main character should be a teenager.

*It can be in first person, but you can’t use ‘I’ more than three times. It can be close third person, but you can’t use the character’s name more than three times.

*The paragraph must start with a long sentence and end with a short one, OR it can start with a short one and end with a long one.

Before you decide that I’m waiting for YOU to write MY assignment, here is a first draft of mine:

I love this computer, my dearest friend, closest companion, and hardworking colleague. Flipping open the lid, the screen lights up, notification icons blink. On Facebook, I stare in horror at a photoshopped picture of me, barely dressed, in the arms of some skinny nerd. Four of my closest friends have ‘liked’ it. Change to email before anyone sees me online. An English teacher didn’t get my final paper, some refugee in a third world country needs money, and no message from Thomas after last night’s wonderful date. I hate computers.

Published by Linda Ulleseit

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14 thoughts on “Writing Exercise”

How fun! This is the first paragraph from Hunger Games. It’s only five sentences, but otherwise it fits!

When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim’s warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother. Of course, she did. This is the day of the reaping.

I was beyond angry as my eyes scanned over the mean words on the screen of my phone. Who knew that your own friends could do something this horrible. I read the post updated not only an hour ago but had over fifty likes. My hands balled into fists causing my knuckles to turn white. Tears stung at the corner of my eyes as I forced them to stay in. I could picture them laughing as they scrolled through comments with not a care in the world. I wanted to cry.

I waited in anticipation as my older brother, who played for the Golden State Warriors, would get the ball, and shoot the buzzer beater to tie the game. I knew that if anyone could do it, my brother could. It was the seventh game of the finals, and and we were down in double overtime, 133-130. When the ball was inbounded, my brother made a beeline for the corner three where he knew he was the best shooter, but as he was going there, he was pushed in the back, and fell down, screaming in pain. Immediately, I saw medical staff rush onto the court. He was carted onto a stretcher, and I followed. Panic filled me.

I watched in a tense mood, my stomach in knots, I was about to lose it, but kept my calm, my closest ally, gone, voted out of the game. After my longtime friend was sent home from the last tribal council, there was no other way for me to survive and make it to the finals. Even if I continue to survive, this game is too nerve wrecking for me. Everyday getting one step closer to the next person voted out of the game will be torture. No matter how far this game takes me, when this is all over and all the players are back to reality, there would be no way to find out if a friend has been gained or lost. Games can ruin your relationships forever. Or can they?

Sunday morning began with the awful realization that I’d made the biggest mistake of my life. It had all started on Saturday. The Weekend began like any other. Mom and Dad were rushing around, packing puppets and balloons and face paint into the van for a party in the afternoon. They’re part entertainers; the weekends are their busiest time. I used to go along to the parties, but then I – well, I just don’t anymore. I just grew up.

The morning felt very chilly, even though it was a warm and sunny summer morning, and I heard the referee’s whistle to start the match. Perhaps, it were the stomach knots that I was feeling inside. Our school team had reached the regional high school soccer finals. Our opponents were tough and unbeaten this year. I got my first pass and kicked the ball hard towards the opponent’s goal. The sound of the ball hitting the opponent’s goal net felt like music to my ears. Life was great again!

It was the smell that began to drive Thomas slightly mad. Not being alone for over three weeks. Not the white walls, ceiling and floor. Not the lack of windows or the fact that they never turned off the lights. None of that. They’d taken his watch; they fed him the exact
same meal three times a day—slab of ham, mashed potatoes, raw carrots, slice of bread, water—never spoke to him, never allowed anyone else in the room. No books, no movies, no games.